months.

Most calls occurred during weekday afternoons.

Several lasted more than twenty minutes.

And many happened on evenings when Colin told Nora he was helping Mason with the warehouse.

Leah watched her face.

“You think he’s having an affair?”

Nora considered it.

A day earlier, that possibility would have devastated her.

Now it barely registered beside the forged loan.

“I think whatever this is, it’s about more than an affair.”

The following morning, Nora returned to the police station and played the voicemail for the investigator assigned to the fraud complaint.

Detective Samira Cole was in her early forties, with a patient way of listening that made Nora realize how often Colin had interrupted her mid-sentence.

“Do not go to the warehouse alone,” Cole said.

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“Have you contacted this Camille?”

“No.”

“Good.

Let us start there.”

The detective wrote down the number.

“What does Mason claim his business does?”

“Imports commercial gym equipment.”

“Business name?”

“Mercer Performance Supply.”

Cole searched something on her computer.

“Registered sixteen months ago.

Mason is listed as managing member.”

“That sounds right.”

“Address?”

“Larkin Avenue.”

Cole looked up.

“The registered office is a mailbox center downtown.”

Nora felt another piece shift.

That afternoon, Camille agreed to meet Detective Cole at the station.

Nora was not present for the initial interview, but Cole called later and asked her to come in.

When Nora arrived, Camille was sitting in a small interview room holding a paper cup with both hands.

She looked younger than Nora expected, perhaps thirty, with dark curls pulled into a loose knot and exhaustion visible beneath her eyes.

She stood when Nora entered.

“I’m sorry,” Camille said immediately.

Nora remained near the door.

“For what?”

Camille swallowed.

“For not calling you sooner.”

Detective Cole gestured for everyone to sit.

Camille had worked for Mason’s company as a bookkeeper for eight months.

At least, that was the title she was given.

In reality, Mercer Performance Supply moved very little equipment.

The warehouse on Larkin Avenue was mostly empty.

What it did contain were desks, printers, scanners, filing cabinets, and stacks of paperwork tied to small loans, vendor accounts, and credit applications.

Camille said Mason created businesses, opened credit lines, purchased goods, shifted money among accounts, then abandoned companies under debt.

Colin helped identify potential guarantors.

Friends.

Former clients.

Relatives.

And eventually, Nora.

“They called you the clean file,” Camille said quietly.

Nora felt cold.

“What does that mean?”

“Good income.

Property.

Strong credit.

Low debt.”

Nora looked at Detective Cole.

Camille continued.

“Colin said you would never notice if they moved carefully.”

The room seemed to narrow.

“How do you know he said that?”

“Because I heard him.”

“When?”

“Three weeks ago.”

Camille stared at the paper cup.

“He and Mason were arguing.

Mason thought ninety-six thousand was too much because it might trigger questions.

Colin said your house had enough equity and that you trusted him with everything.”

Nora’s jaw tightened.

“What was the money for?”

Camille looked at Cole.

The detective nodded.

“To cover other debts,” Camille said.

“And to move some money out before several creditors caught up with them.”

“So there was no equipment purchase?”

“Not the one they told you about.”

Nora thought of breakfast.

Eight thousand dollars.

The demand.

The violence.

“Why did Colin